Beekeeping
by green lion
Summary: When a mysterious accident sends Carmen into early retirement, she and Zack strike up an unexpected friendship. Post-canon.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** Carmen and friends are the property of others, I'm just borrowing them for awhile.

**Summary:** When a mysterious accident sends Carmen into early retirement, she and Zack strike up an unexpected friendship. Post-canon.

**Author's Note:** Most of these early chapters are probably Teen/PG-13, but later chapters will contain more mature subject matter, so I'm rating it M just to be safe.

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><p>"But you have retired, Holmes. We heard of you as living the life of a hermit among your bees and your books in a small farm upon the South Downs."<p>

"Exactly, Watson. Here is the fruit of my leisured ease, the magnum opus of my latter years!" He picked up the volume from the table and read out the whole title, _Practical Handbook of Bee Culture, with Some Observations upon the Segregation of the Queen_. "Alone I did it. Behold the fruit of pensive nights and laborious days when I watched the little working gangs as once I watched the criminal world of London."

**-Arthur Conan Doyle, ****_His Last Bow _****(1917)**

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><p>I always thought Carmen Sandiego would go out with a bang. Instead, she just quietly faded away.<p>

The day my sister and I were called to Lee Galeese's office marked the official end of Carmen's criminal career. It had been several months since the thief's last caper, which was somewhat unusual. But really, Carmen's heists had never been the same since the whole sad business with Malcolm Avalon. She went through the motions, but I don't think her heart was ever quite in it again.

I remember being annoyed at having to trek halfway across town to meet with Carmen's motor mouth lawyer- I had nearly finished laying down some code for what I thought would bring me fortune and fame, the new and improved Zack Attack 30,000. But Ivy insisted it could be an important lead on Carmen's case. The past few months of inactivity had not been easy on my sister.

Lee's office was as tacky as he was. We sat in sticky faux leather armchairs while he rattled off some legal mumbo-jumbo at us. "The party of the first part, Carmen Sandiego, CEO of VILE Inc. hereby releases the party of the second part, Zack and Ivy, from all previous binding binders pertaining to her last will and testament, ipso facto, presto-changeo…."

"In English?" Ivy prompted, annoyed.

Galeese rolled his beady eyes. "Ms. Sandiego has decided to disband VILE inevitably. As it no longer exists, you are hereby absolved of inheriting her criminal organization in the eventual eventuality of her death. Now, if you will sign and initial these forms in triplicate, we can all be on our way."

"Carmen's disbanding VILE? Why would she do that?" I found myself asking.

The greasy lawyer looked sad and uncomfortable. "You can ask her yourself. Carmen, they're ready for you," he called out softly and opened the door.

I don't know what I expected to come through that door, but it certainly wasn't Carmen in a wheelchair. She still wore her trademark red coat and fedora, but her left leg was covered in some kind of large cast. "Hello, detectives. Thank you for coming." When she spoke her voice had the same velvet tone it always had, but she sounded tired.

"What the hell happened to you?" my sister blurted out.

"Skiing accident in Chamonix six months ago. I've had several surgeries, but my doctors tell me there is a strong possibility I may never walk again. One of life's great ironies- I spend half my life jumping off skyscrapers and I end up getting crippled on vacation." She gave a bitter smile.

I didn't really know what to say. "That sucks. I'm sorry, Carmen."

The great thief, suddenly diminished, nodded gravely. "Yes, as you well know, running is an essential part of my job description. And as I have no desire to manage a criminal empire from behind the scenes, I have decided to retire. I felt it was my duty to inform you."

My sister, ever the suspicious one, said, "I don't believe you, Carmen. This has to be another one of your tricks."

Carmen sunk back deeper behind her fedora and spoke wistfully, "If only it were, detective."

I looked at Carmen and at Galeese's disappointed expression. While she was an expert actress, he was not. "I think she's telling the truth, sis."

My innocuous little remark somehow caused my sister to boil over with rage. She turned on me, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "And so what if she is, Zack? What are we supposed to do about that? Am I supposed to just sign these papers and walk out of here, while Carmen gets away scot free? Like the past ten years have never happened?"

"Ivy, calm down. She's in a wheelchair…"

"I don't care!" My sister proclaimed and stormed out of the office, slamming the door and rattling the picture frames on the wall.

"You might want to get out of here, she's probably called for backup already," I began.

Carmen looked pale, but otherwise unruffled. "Don't worry about me. Go after your sister, Zack."

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><p>When my sister finally showed up at ACME later that night, we got into a huge fight over what to do about Carmen. Really, somebody should have sold tickets, it was Pay-Per-View worthy.<p>

"I'm not going to just let her go! It's not right."

"You're going to keep chasing after her when you know she can't run. What's the point of that?"

"The point is she's made her choices and should be serving thirty to life for them. This so-called 'accident' of hers changes nothing." Ivy shook her head and looked at me with a disappointed expression. "I don't get you, Zack, you always wanted to send her to jail before, sometimes more than I did."

"Well, yeah, but I never expected her to stay there!" I responded, hardly knowing what I was saying.

My sister's green eyes flashed. "So, this is all just a game to you? When did you turn into Carmen- when did her game become yours?"

It was an uncomfortable truth. I don't know when I started to see catching Carmen as more of an intellectual exercise and less of a moral obligation. Probably around the same time I began to see her as less of a criminal in need of justice as more as a brilliant but flawed human being. I tried to explain. "I wanted to catch her, sure. But not like this, you know?"

My sister's expression calmed, and she nodded. "I always thought it would be big and splashy, like when I was the Tigress. After all these years, little bro, it feels like a consolation prize."

"Right. So, how does letting her rot in jail really help anybody? It's not going to make me feel better. Or, the Chief. It's not going to help Carmen." I paused and when I spoke I was more deadly serious than I had been in my entire life. "Ivy, she could die in there and I am not talking natural causes. The woman has a lot of enemies. If Maelstrom or Lee Jordan sent somebody, she wouldn't be able to defend herself."

My sister clenched her fists and let out a deep sigh. "I'll think about it."

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><p>It nearly killed her, but eventually Ivy came around. In the end, she told me she only did for the Chief, that seeing Carmen locked away for life would break his heart. I almost believed her.<p>

We spent the next two years putting away most of VILE and putting down any upstarts that thought to take Carmen's place. We were busy, but even my sister reluctantly admitted that it didn't match the thrill of chasing Carmen.

After that day in Lee Galeese's office, Carmen's trail went ice cold. Occasionally some civilian would call in a tip, claiming they'd spotted her at a fish market in Tokyo or prowling the halls of the Musée D'Orsay. They were almost always red herrings; the woman was a ghost.

I had a hunch that the Chief had been in contact with her. Occasionally when we were stuck, he appeared with a "hot tip" that seemingly came out of nowhere. Once, when Lee Jordan broke out of jail, two bankers boxes worth of evidence (containing his financial records, known associates, aliases, and no joke, an old report card) arrived mysteriously via courier from Havana. With all that info, Lee was back in jail before the prison guards even had a chance to miss him.

My hunch got confirmed one day when the Chief waited until Ivy had gone to lunch to ask me a favor. His cartoonish face took on an oddly serious cast. "Zack, I need you to take me someplace."

"Sure, where are we going? The beach? The movies? I hear the new Lily Marlene film is awesome."

"I want to go see Carmen. Don't tell Ivy."

"Oh." I felt like I should be surprised, but I actually wasn't. "But can't you just piggyback on her frequency? It always worked before."

"I have been and it's risky." He dimmed a paler shade of pink. "And it's not the same as seeing her in person." It may sound strange that a disembodied AI, who could not actually taste, smell, or touch anything, would care about being somewhere "in person." But it made perfect sense to me.

"Is it someplace far? Because an unauthorized C-5 transport to say…Bolivia is going to look suspicious."

"She's only a couple of hours away. Near Big Sur," he told me and smiled a little.

I took a deep breath. "Okay. A road trip it is."

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><p>It was a pleasant drive along the coastal highway to Big Sur, the Pacific Ocean on one side, rocky cliffs and redwoods on the other. The Chief and I rode together in uncharacteristic silence. The prospect of seeing Carmen left me feeling afraid, guilty, and a little bit numb.<p>

Her house was on a dirt road, wisely secluded. I turned off the engine and got out of the car, the Chief trailing behind me. A screen door opened and I watched the woman who was once my greatest adversary gingerly maneuver down the driveway on crutches. I was overcome with an unexpected sense of relief; it had hurt to see her in that wheelchair.

The Chief rushed up to her and greeted Carmen enthusiastically. She smiled. Her bright blue eyes turned toward me. If she was disappointed to not find Ivy beside me, she didn't say so. "Hello, Zack. It's good to see you," she said, smoothly and simply.

I felt shy. "It's good to see you, too."

"Come with me," she beckoned. So I did.

The Chief and I followed Carmen to her backyard, which had a splendid view of the sea through the giant pines. A lunch had been laid out, lemonade and sandwiches. Carmen didn't eat much and reclined in a weather-beaten Adirondack chair with her bad leg elevated on a pile of cushions. She asked about my cases, my programming. She asked about Tatiana, who had recently broken up with me. She did not ask about Ivy.

Finally, I found the courage to ask about her leg. "It seems like you're doing better," I observed.

"The outlook is still indeterminate. My doctors have done all they can. I have been prescribed rest, relaxation, and intensive physical therapy." She took a sip of water and looked resigned. "Time will tell."

"Why here?"

"It's home, I suppose."

There was an awkward and melancholy silence. I knew I was not the real reason for this visit, so I excused myself. "I know you two want to catch up. I'll leave you to it."

There was a trail that lead away from Carmen's property down to the ocean and I hiked along it for awhile, despite not having my hiking shoes. The scenery was beautiful and terrifying. The cliffs were sharp, steep and unforgiving, the water below the bluest of blues. But acts of athleticism were Ivy's department, not mine, so I turned back.

I returned to Carmen's house, thirsty and sweaty, and grabbed a drink of water. Conversation between Carmen and the Chief filtered through the kitchen window. I couldn't make out the individual words, but the Chief sounded concerned and Carmen, sad and upset. I watched the Chief lower his screen to kiss her on the forehead, watched her lean into an embrace she would never feel. I turned away.

The layout of Carmen's house was very open, one room flowing into the next, with high ceilings and large windows that capitalized on the million-dollar views. Everything was neat and orderly, the furniture tasteful and modern. But there were no photographs, no mementos, nothing that revealed anything about her. The living room looked like a picture out of one of those catalogues my mom gets- _Pottery Barrel _or _Crate & Barn_. Perfect and soothing with zero personality.

Until I stumbled upon her library. Floor to ceiling built-in wooden shelves overflowed with books. One case was filled with classics and highbrow heavy-hitters- the complete works of Shakespeare, Herman Melville and Mark Twain, Atwood, Rushdie, Pynchon and Morrison, lined up in tidy rows. But the rest seemed to be stuffed with nothing but mystery and detective stories that threatened to spill onto the floor. She had all the greats- Agatha Christie and Dorothy Sayers, Dashiell Hammett and Raymond Chandler- and even a first edition _Murders in the Rue Morgue_ that I didn't look too closely at. But Carmen also collected what looked like the trashiest pulp from the 50s and 60s; a third of her books were written in other languages. I sat down and started reading about a Japanese detective named Kiyoshi Mitarai.

A few chapters in, the Chief popped up and interrupted me. "Hey, Zackarino, I've got to check in back at Crimenet. Just had word of a bank heist in Dubai."

"Should I go back, too?"

"Nah, it's not your division. But can you do me a favor? Sub me in this chess game I'm playing against Carmen?"

I shrugged. "Okay, I guess."

I joined Carmen out on the patio where they had just started a game. "You're playing black?"

She smirked and said with a hint of her old playfulness, "I usually do." She slid one of her pawns forward. "Your move."

We were back on familiar territory, playing opposite sides of the gameboard. To be honest, I'd been craving a match with Carmen for years, ever since that case with the statues where I had first met Tatiana. I don't know what I expected, but it wasn't Carmen beating me in six moves. I felt like I just got my ass kicked by a Russian grand master. Whatever was wrong with her body, her mind still retained its knife-like sharpness.

"I want a rematch," I mumbled.

"I look forward to it." She rubbed her temples and looked tired. The afternoon had sapped much of her strength. "I'm sorry, the painkillers…they make me drowsy."

_That was out of character_. For Carmen to take painkillers and admit to it? She must be in pretty bad shape. I got up to leave. "I should be going. This was…fun," I said truthfully.

"Provided you don't bring backup, you are always welcome."

"Next time, I'll try to bring Ivy. I'll try."

Carmen looked at me, expressionless and simply nodded. "Thank you."

And then I did something which I think surprised us both. I leaned down and my arms, almost of their own accord, went around her, giving the embrace the Chief could not. A second too late, Carmen's right arm circled around me hesitantly. She, who had always executed the most complex gymnastic maneuvers with effortless grace, hugged like one long out of practice.

As I drove back home to San Francisco, I was overcome by a sense of dread. I had watched Carmen backflip off bridges, go toe to toe with dangerous criminals, and generally cheat death hundreds of times. But left alone with her own restlessness and boredom in that house by the sea, I had never been more afraid for her.

I had to do something.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note:** I've been wanting to write this story for a long time, another take on what my have happened after the end of the series. I'm always hesitant to post a WIP. I'm hoping that if I put a few chapters out there, I will feel obligated to finish it. Just know that it may be a few weeks between updates. I appreciate your patience, readers.

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><p>I recruited the Chief to help me and after racking our brains for a week or so, we eventually came up with a solution. Or at least what we <em>hoped<em> would be a solution.

We called it "beekeeping."

The name stuck for two reasons. First, I was not yet ready to share either my knowledge of Carmen's latest whereabouts or my concerns about our former adversary's mental health with Ivy. So we needed some kind of code for why the Chief and I were clocking some serious hours in the evidence locker. Second, I suppose was my own whimsical homage to the great fictional detective, Sherlock Holmes, who spent his retirement in a cottage by the sea keeping bees. I guess I hoped that if we gave Carmen some kind of…hobby…it would keep her restlessness at bay.

Three weeks after I made my first visit to Carmen's place, I found myself lounging on her immaculate grey velvet sofa as she sifted and measured case files into a trio of sloppy piles. She said absolutely nothing as she undertook this task, not even the occasional "hmm" or sigh, the room filled only with the scratch and shuffling of decades' old paper. There were kidnappings and murders in there, missing persons and wire fraud- surely at least one of them would tempt her. Carmen set the final file aside and looked at me expectantly. I couldn't tell whether she was angry or pleased, but I was willing to wager she was at the very least interested in my proposition. She wouldn't have spent the better part of an hour elbow-deep in paper if she wasn't.

"So what do you think? Can you help?" I asked, desperately trying to keep hopefulness and expectation out of my voice.

Carmen tapped a small stack of files. "Some of these cases were already cold when I was a detective, Zack. The odds of them being solved now are very unlikely."

"Are you saying it's too much of a challenge for you?" I countered.

"I know what you're trying to do." Her voice held a tone of caution, but when I looked in her eyes, I caught a glimpse of the old playfulness there.

"And you're intrigued. Admit it."

The playfulness melted into a cautious smile. "I am."

I smiled, too, nearly drunk with relief. "Good."

"I couldn't help but notice that a great many of these cases occurred over a twelve year period. Exactly the tenure of my criminal career," she said in a neutral tone.

"What can I say? Chasing you ate up a lot time and money that could have been spent elsewhere, Carmen."

"Is this supposed to be my penance?"

"If that idea appeals to you, sure." I had a feeling it probably did.

Carmen simply shrugged. She gestured to her bad leg, resting on the coffee table. "I wouldn't expect much movement on these cases for a few months. It is going to be difficult to track down suspects with my limited mobility."

If she wanted coddling, (and I suspected she didn't) I had no idea how to give it to her. So, I just teased her instead, reprising the kind of familiar banter from our games of cops and robbers. "All the more challenging for you, I suppose. Just the way you like it."

"Gives a new meaning to the phrase _armchair_ _detective_," she quipped. I found myself laughing, which was odd. Usually Carmen's jokes were at my expense.

Suddenly, things turned awkward. With the business of our meeting taken care of, it seemed odd to just be hanging around in Carmen's presence. I grabbed my car keys off the coffee table and rose to leave. "I should be getting back…"

"Wait, Zack…one more question. Does Ivy know about this?" I never would have thought it possible, but Carmen for once looked hesitant. Vulnerable even.

I sighed and felt guilty. "No. She doesn't know about you…this…any of this. She's been busy lately, preoccupied. It's just not the right time."

Carmen nodded. "Where Ivy is concerned, I trust your judgment." She grasped my hand impulsively and squeezed. I squeezed back.

"Thank you, Zack" was all she said.

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><p>I meant to tell Ivy soon after that, I really did. But days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into months. I had been to see Carmen a couple of times more since then. She'd even cracked a few of the cases. But the longer I went without telling Ivy, the harder it became to come clean. Because each secret visit compounded, like a lie with interest, and I dreaded the day that bill came due.<p>

Eventually Ivy caught the Chief and me in the act. We had gotten sloppy about our "beekeeping." Hell, maybe we wanted to get caught.

The Chief and I were in the control room, digging through files about a string of Belgian art forgeries from the late 80s. Ivy had taken the afternoon off and we thought we had the place to ourselves until the night shift came on at seven. I tossed the file into a box. "Oh, she is going to love that one, Chief. It's right up her alley."

"Are you sure? We've got three forgeries in there already. I don't want our beekeeper to get bored."

"It's got art, mystery, even a dash of Cold War European politics. Trust me, our beekeeper is going to think it's total honey." The Chief laughed at my bad joke and gave himself a little bee body and started buzzing around an old map of Europe, from before the fall of the Berlin Wall. I cracked up; it felt just like old times again, when we were both on Carmen's trail.

"What's so funny? And what is this obsession with bees?" Ivy's clear bell like voice startled me, I nearly fell out of my chair.

The Chief quickly made his bee costume disappear and started speaking very quickly. "It's nothing. No one. Nada. Nothing to see here. Did someone say bees? I meant sneeze. Or fleas. Pepperoni and cheese?" He was such a terrible liar.

Ivy rifled through the files. "You two must have some good reason for dragging all of these files out of storage," she said pointedly to me.

I briefly considered denying the whole thing, making up some ridiculous story about this beekeeper I had a crush on, but decided there was no way I could sell it. I'm not that great of a liar either. Instead, I decided to come clean. "They're for Carmen, Ivy. She's been consulting on some old cases for us."

My sister froze and I could almost see the ice creeping up her spine and lodging itself squarely in her green eyes. "For Carmen," she said tightly.

"Yes, the Chief and I…we've been going to see her. The cases were my idea…I thought they'd help her pass the time, keep her mind off her injury." Ivy frowned and said nothing. I continued on, maybe a little too cheerfully. "You know, I think it's actually working, she's making real progress on her physical therapy, even cracked a twenty-year old missing persons case…"

Ivy just stared at me and crumpled the file she was holding into a shriveled little ball. My sister had never hit me…not even in a kind of rough house way when we were kids. In that moment, I seriously thought she might put me in Intensive Care. "Let me get this straight…you thought it would be a good idea to share confidential files with a criminal mastermind who was and still _is_ this agency's top priority because you thought it would_ help her pass the time_?"

I gulped. "Well, she's been helping us, too, more like a two-way street…"

Ivy ignored my explanation and rounded on the Chief. "And you were in on this, too?"

His pink face withered like a deflated balloon. "Uh-huh."

"How long has this been going on for, Chief?"

"About six months," he answered sheepishly.

"I can't believe this!" Ivy picked up the box of files and hurled it across the room, seething with white hot rage. "For six months, you two have been palling around with Carmen, sharing little secrets behind my back, probably laughing at me the whole time…"

"Whoa, Ivy, it wasn't like that. I was going to tell you eventually." Even as I said the words, I realized how lame they must have sounded to her.

Ivy folded her arms and glared at me. "Then what was it like, Zackary?"

"I don't know. I was worried about her. I wanted to help." That was the truth. "You know it's not good for her to get bored…"

Ivy just looked at me, eyes full of pity and condescension. "You have a good heart, little bro. Maybe too good. But this isn't like when Aunt Judy had cancer and we needed to take her to chemo. You're not a Boy Scout and Carmen Sandiego's not some old lady you're trying to help cross the street. You're an Acme detective and she's a criminal," she said with finality.

"Was," I corrected. "_Was_ a criminal. Now, she's just a woman in a lot of pain."

My sister snorted. "They have drugs for that."

"Not just physical pain. The other kind."

Ivy's lips thinned. "They have drugs for that, too, I suppose. She's not your problem, little bro. This," my sister gestured to the files decorating the floor, "has to stop."

"No."

"Excuse me?"

Now I was angry, too. Ivy wasn't the only one in the family who could be stubborn. "You heard me. No, I'm not going to stop visiting Carmen. I guess you'll have to lock me up if you want to stop me. The Chief, too." The Chief's pixilated eyes looked fearful, but he nodded with certainty.

Ivy looked at me, more hurt and wounded than I had ever seen her. She looked like she wanted to cry, and I hadn't seen her do that since our grandmother's funeral. "So, that's how it's going to be. My own brother is choosing Carmen Sandiego over me."

"I don't see it that way…"

"I do." She brushed away the tears in her eyes roughly and pulled a worn white envelope from her back pocket. She threw it at my feet. I picked it up. _Georgetown University College of Law_ was printed in navy blue ink in the top left corner. "Well, guess what, little bro? I've been keeping a secret, too. I'm leaving Acme," she spat.

"Law school? The East Coast?" I tried to picture my sister as a prosecutor in one of those law dramas that are always on TV and just couldn't.

"Yeah. I thought about deferring for a year…I wanted to wrap up things here, see that you were settled with a new partner. But, it seems you've already moved on without me," she said bitterly.

"But, Ivy, you love this job…"

"I _loved_ this job. Not anymore." She gave the Chief a sharp look. "Consider this my two weeks' notice."

I opened my mouth, but didn't know what to say. I was fluent in fifteen languages and in that moment I knew that nothing I could say in any of them would stop Ivy from leaving.

"Thanks for making up my mind for me, Zack." She turned for the door and never once looked back. Almost like another girl detective I knew.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** Carmen and friends are the property of others, I'm just borrowing them for awhile.

**Summary:** When a mysterious accident sends Carmen into early retirement, she and Zack strike up an unexpected friendship. Post-canon.

**Author's Note:** Many apologies readers for such an overdue update! It turns out that fic writing and your first year of teaching do not exactly mix. I am hoping to have more regular updates from now on, with the goal of finishing the fic by the time school resumes in the fall. And thank you to all of those who have recently favorited and followed- reviews are always welcome and appreciated!

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><p>Those last two weeks between us were tense, almost unbearable. I spent most of them working long hours at ACME, choosing to sleep in the control room rather than come home and face the angry, hurt look in Ivy's eyes across the dinner table. It was almost a relief when she left for DC. Ivy told our parents that she wanted to find an apartment and get settled in before the semester started. But, I knew the real reason was that she could barely stand to be in the same house with me anymore.<p>

I think she honestly expected me to capitulate within 48 hours. To say that she was right and I was wrong, to promise to cut off all contact with the woman formerly known as the world's greatest thief. The more Ivy expected me to do this, the harder and deeper my resolve became. Even though there was a part of me that tried to tell myself that Carmen would be fine on her own and that I didn't owe her anything, I couldn't shake the feeling that she wouldn't be and that I _did_ owe her something. More than anything else, I didn't want to give up on her just because a sobered, broken Carmen- a Carmen capable of change- didn't suit my sister's worldview.

The day my parents drove Ivy to SFO to start her new life, I found myself on the road to Big Sur again, this time without the Chief's company. I had put on a brave face, but Ivy's departure left me feeling like someone had put my heart inside a blender and pressed _puree_. I went to the only person I thought would understand.

It was late afternoon by the time I pulled into Carmen's driveway. I both hoped and feared she wouldn't be home. I surreptitiously rang the bell before I lost my nerve and drove back to San Francisco.

It took a few minutes longer than it should have for Carmen to open the door. She looked a little rumpled, like she had been sleeping. Given the heavy duty medication she was on, she most likely had been. I felt guilty at showing up without even calling first. "Zack, what a surprise." Her sharp eyes met mine and she frowned. "Is everything all right?"

I didn't even know where to begin. "It's Ivy. She knows. And she's not happy."

Carmen visibly tensed. "You'd better come inside."

I sat there again on her sofa and poured my heart out to Carmen over Earl Grey and stale ginger biscuits. Once I had made it clear that Ivy wasn't planning to storm her house with a team of Navy Seals, Carmen relaxed the slightest fraction. Mostly she just listened, her implacable poker face as inscrutable as ever.

"So, she's gone, Carmen. Really gone. And I don't think she'll be coming back anytime soon," I finished, having finally exhausted myself.

Carmen looked away and stared out of one of her oversized windows at the sea for a long time. At last, she spoke. "I'll leave, Zack. It's the best solution."

I wanted to protest. "Where would you go?"

She shrugged. "Does it matter?"

"It matters to me."

Carmen leaned back and raked a hand through her thick hair, uncharacteristically uncertain. "I don't know….back to Havana perhaps, the doctors are good there and Castro's government would be unlikely to cooperate with ACME or Interpol for extradition."

"You don't have to go. I don't want you to," I said quietly.

"It would be selfish for me to stay, Zack."

"Why?"

For a moment Carmen almost looked irritated with me. "Because she's your sister. I won't allow you and Ivy to become estranged over me...it's not worth it. _I'm_ not worth it."

I scowled and raised my voice. "You're just as bad as Ivy, you know, trying to make decisions for me. Why don't you let me decide what is and is not worth it, okay? I want you to stay, Carmen. Ivy and I can occasionally disagree about things. Despite what everyone seems to believe, we are not the same person and can hold our own opinions."

Carmen looked at me appraisingly and I could see she was a bit surprised and maybe a little impressed at my outburst of temper. "Well, if you insist," she said with a quirk. "But I confess I dislike this quarrel between you and your sister."

"That's something Ivy and I are going to have to work out. You can't solve our problems for us, Carmen."

"I suppose you're right," she said, though her tone implied she disagreed. Carmen paused for a minute, then said, her voice parched with derision, "Law school, hmmm? Well that should appeal to Ivy, lots of rules for her to follow."

I let out a short, dry laugh. "When you put it that way, it almost makes sense."

* * *

><p>That night, Carmen engaged me in a game of chess again, as a way of taking both our minds off Ivy. This match was dense, protracted, and complicated, as different from our first as it could be. I ended up losing (again), but there were moments I felt I almost had her, that victory was just a few moves away. It was a disturbingly familiar feeling and I had a hunch it was all an illusion created by Carmen, a chance for her to play the cat and mouse games that she craved, even if it was only across a chessboard.<p>

It was going for nine o'clock when Carmen at last put me in check, which meant it would be after midnight by the time I made it home. I was shocked and a little embarrassed that I had managed to spend so much time with her. "Wow. I had no idea it was so late. I hope I didn't overstay my welcome."

Carmen shook her head. "Nonsense. It is I who should apologize for monopolizing your time, Zack. It's a long drive back to the city, I know." She paused a bit and said with deliberate casualness, "Of course if you are too tired to make the drive, you are welcome to stay the night if you like. The guest room," she idly gestured in the direction of the hall, "is made up and there are extra towels in the hallway bath."

Voluntarily spending the night at Carmen's house felt more like a blurring of ethics and boundaries than I had originally intended when I first took up "beekeeping." On the other hand, a wounded part of me desperately wanted to put off going home as long as possible. I couldn't bear the silence, the sight of Ivy's empty bedroom, and the knowledge that I was the reason. "Thanks. That sounds nice. But it's not the drive I'm worried about."

"I know, Zack," she told me sorrowfully. And I knew that the mix of guilt and anger I felt about Ivy leaving was shared by Carmen in equal (if not greater) measure. In an odd way, it almost made it easier, misery loving company and all.

Once again, without business to discuss or a game to play, I felt awkward around Carmen. I gestured to the dishes and empty glasses that surrounded the ruins of our evening. "Let me put these things away. You stay and rest."

I dutifully carried the dishes into the kitchen and washed and dried them with a diligence I rarely showed at home. I doubted Carmen would expel me from her home over a few spots on her water glasses, but one didn't take chances in the presence of a mercurial criminal mastermind, even if she was retired. I called my parents and let them know I was working late and wouldn't be home until tomorrow. "Official ACME business," was the excuse I gave them. It wasn't entirely untrue.

When I returned to the living room after only ten or fifteen minutes, I found Carmen fast asleep on the sofa. Not for the first time I wondered about the cost of our afternoons together and whether or not I should be allowing her to pay it. She looked peaceful there, but I doubted the position she was in could be good for her recovery. She needed to be in her own bed. I took a deep breath and prayed she wouldn't find what I was about to do incredibly out of bounds. I bent down and lifted her up in my arms as tenderly as I could. I had undergone a growth spurt in the past year and a half and was hardly the 100 lb geekwad I had been when I was first assigned to Carmen's case. Even so, how little she weighed shocked me.

She barely stirred as I carried her to her bedroom, at the opposite end of the hall from the one she had pointed out to me earlier. I laid her down gently on the bed. I didn't dare undress her, but slipped the tennis shoes off her feet and covered her as best I could with a light quilt I found in the closet. Before I left, I took a look around. Slate blue walls and solid pine furniture. Clothes hung up neatly in the closet. A few abstract paintings, landscapes mostly, on the walls; they were pretty and looked expensive, but the artists weren't any I recognized. And I was 90% sure they weren't stolen. Her bedroom was as sterile and anonymous as a hotel room. Well, given her years on the run, Carmen probably found the anonymity of hotel rooms soothing or something.

I left and closed the door halfway behind me. The guest room was more of the same, the walls a warm taupe instead of cool blue. I was exhausted, mentally and emotionally, and fell into a deep sleep almost as soon as my head hit the pillow. That night I dreamt I was playing in the park with Ivy, almost like we were little kids again. I chased after her in a game of tag, following her over the monkey bars, down the slide, behind the swings. Wherever she ran, I followed. Just when I finally got close enough to grab her by the shoulder and end the game, her brown leather jacket flamed bright red beneath my fingertips. Short red hair darkened and tumbled down in lush waves.

I had finally caught Carmen Sandiego, but Ivy was nowhere to be found.

* * *

><p>I awoke the next morning to find that I had overslept. After a quick shower, I joined Carmen in the kitchen, where she sat sipping black coffee and reading a back issue of <em>The Paris Review<em>. "Good morning, Zack. You slept well, I hope?"

Still disconcerted by my dream, I mumbled unconvincingly, "Yeah, sorta. You?"

Carmen narrowed her eyes but said nothing. I had a feeling she probably hadn't slept all that well even before her accident. "There's coffee, cereal, toast. Help yourself to whatever's in the fridge," she said.

The fridge was fairly empty except for a few staples: eggs, milk, bread, OJ. I looked at the crumbs in front of her, the remains of what couldn't have been more than two slices of toast. I thought about how thin she was, how I had been able to feel her ribcage even through her clothes. "How about some scrambled eggs? Will you eat some?"

Carmen shrugged noncommittally, then quickly turned back to her journal.

I set to work, mixing up the eggs with some soymilk and cheddar cheese that only had a little bit of mold on it. I fought down urge to reprimand her, to demand of Carmen how she ever thought she would get well if she didn't bother to take care better of herself. Or, bring someone here who would take care of her if she wasn't physically capable of doing it herself. But between Ivy and my mother, I had enough years of experience around women with hair-trigger tempers that I instinctively knew what I could and could not say without setting off a minefield. Instead, I whipped up two generous portions of the lightest, fluffiest scrambled eggs I could manage.

I poured myself coffee and joined Carmen at the table, divvying up the eggs evenly between us with the implicit assumption that I expected her to eat. I was relieved when she took a small bite and smiled politely. "Very tasty. Thank you."

Sometimes good cop works better than bad cop.

"It's the only thing I know how to make. But I do reheat a mean Hot Pocket," I joked between mouthfuls.

She set aside her journal and ate beside me in silence for a few minutes. I wondered if she was upset about last night, if she was angry that I had violated the unspoken demilitarized zone of our friendship. Carmen answered my thoughts in the most oblique way. "Tuesdays and Fridays are my bad days. I have physical therapy on Mondays and Thursdays, and I'm altogether worthless the next day, I'm afraid."

Yesterday had been a Friday. "I'm sorry, I didn't know."

"It's not that I don't appreciate your visits, Zack. I do. But, it's just that I can't…" her voice wavered, and her eyes turned glassy. There was fragility there, and shame, too.

I patted her hand, reassuring her. "Next time, I'll aim to visit on the weekend. And I'll call."

She nodded wordlessly, and drew her soft cashmere cardigan closer about her, as if she felt a chill. It was the middle of summer and still she looked cold. The grey wool and tan trousers she wore made her olive skin look pale. Ever since her accident, I noticed she had favored washed-out pastels and dull neutrals. Something had leeched the life out of the once vibrant Carmen Sandiego. Whether that was her injury or something else, I really didn't know. It was discouraging and difficult to see her like this. I thought the cases—the beekeeping—were really helping her. Instead it seemed more like one step forward and two steps back.

"Carmen, is there someone you'd like me to call?" If I couldn't help her and she wouldn't help herself, maybe someone else could.

Without even looking up from her reading, she said absently, "Someone?"

I thought again of her room, the pine nightstand that was bare except for a lamp and a well-thumbed copy of _The Magic Mountain_. The empty space where you would have expected the picture of a loved one to be. "Someone special," I prompted gently.

She said nothing, only turned the page, drawing out the tension, making me sweat, just as she had done our chess game the night before. "If there was someone, don't you think I would have called him or her already?" she answered, her voice with a touch of its old cruelty in it.

"Oh. Right." I felt stupid.

Carmen looked at me over the edges of her journal and sighed. "My old ACME colleagues would sooner see me rot in prison. And my associates at VILE…well, those who wouldn't sell me out to the highest bidder would probably make me wish for solitary confinement after only a few days of their company,"she deadpanned. "Of the others…the third-parties weren't as thick on the ground as you'd imagine, Zack, and they weren't the type who stayed for breakfast."

I was hardly an expert at these things, but I thought it was far more likely that _Carmen_ wasn't the type who stayed for breakfast, but I didn't dare say so. "I see."

"No, I don't think you do." She planted her hands firmly on the table and rose to her feet with a fevered strength. Carmen managed to draw herself to her full intimidating height and said with intensity, "In all my restless wanderings, there are only two people who have become 'special' to me. One lives in Washington, DC, and I make no predictions as to whether I will ever see her again. And the other is sitting right in front of me."

Most people believed Carmen's most dangerous weapon was her razor-sharp wit. They underestimated her brutal honesty, all the more devastating because it was always so unexpected and rare. Not to mention her tendency to drop it on you like a ton of bricks.

"I understand," I told her, and knew that I wouldn't be giving up my beekeeping any time soon.


End file.
